


Due Nor'West

by anniesburg



Category: When The Night Comes (Visual Novel)
Genre: Denial, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Kind of a Love Triangle but also Kinda Not, Mutual Pining, Reader isn't the hunter btw, Smut and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 16:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17646077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniesburg/pseuds/anniesburg
Summary: Armaros is unlucky enough to learn that love takes many different forms and cares very little for who saw who first.





	Due Nor'West

**Author's Note:**

> we get six beautiful people to romance and i had to set sights on the pale guy who's already taken. sooooo rather than pretend elaine doesn't exist (i like her too much already) i'm using that to juxtapose this very different style of love that can happen. poor armaros.

“Do say hello to Lainie for me, when you see her next.” He looks like he’s been swept up in a freezing tide, pensive blue eyes shocked to their pupils. With a shark-smile, you tug your blouse closed over your front. 

“You’re mocking me.” He says, sounding as if he can’t believe it. Armaros doesn’t know whether to sound hurt by this, so accustomed is he to oppressive personalities. You nod, but it isn’t cruel.

“Of course I am, sweet boy,” you begin, starting back towards him with a shirt still-unbuttoned and naked from the waist-down but for your stockings. You cup his cheek and can’t miss the way that he visibly flinches. “you’re in love with her.” 

“I don’t know what I am,” he defends, jerking his face away from your touch. It stings in an unexpected way. “not when she’s around.” You tut, pretending a matter-of-fact attitude. 

“It is the duty of those in love to flatter each other and those not to make jesters of themselves.” Hesitantly, you take a strand of his white-blond hair and twirl it around your finger. “I didn’t mean any offence, she’s a much better match for you than I.” 

“In your opinion,” he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away this time. His cold hand takes yours and very carefully untangles his hair from your fingers. After a moment’s stillness, he presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s a kind gesture and you’re reminded of his flash-bang goodness. It comes in shades of bright white, near-blinding in their intensity but too quickly are they gone. Still, you feel inherently privileged to know that a good man’s grown from all his sister’s malice. 

“Not my fault you don’t listen to me,” you say, turning your hand in his and gently rubbing the faint remains of red lipstick from his mouth until it’s mostly gone. You’re sad to remove your marks from him, but the ones between his thighs are less easily brushed away.

“I listen to too many as it is,” he sounds like he wants to make it a joke. Instead Armaros ends up confessing something to you. It’s rare, unexpected and he seems unsure about the vulnerable aspect. 

“I’m no good for you, promise.” You say, switching the subject with very little care to the conversation’s natural flow. He’s already being lead down a dark path, you’re not about to pull him down another. “My name is Death and I excel.” 

He grins at that, a rare smile on now-bloodless lips that lifts your spirit. He’s such a dear thing when he wants to be, you find yourself reaching out to him again. You pull him against you, standing between his knees and hugging him to your chest. His forehead rests against your ribcage, his breaths come slow and sad. 

“I have a funeral in a few hours. Could convince Aurora that I need an extra set of dependable hands to help me transport the casket.” Armaros doesn’t look up but you already know his answer. 

“She doesn’t like it when I’m alone around other people.” He replies, it sounds less rehearsed but there’s a false edge to it. You sense he’s downplaying the worst of his sister’s sinister nature. 

“Now doesn’t count?” You ask, trying in vain to get him to smile again with your joking tone. 

“I’m terrified she’ll find out about you,” he says. “Elaine less-so.” Armaros pulls away and looks up at you, you can see the creeping fear in his eyes. It’s a cold day in August when you can see anything else. It’s heartbreaking. 

“Ah, but that’s why I recommend her.” You persist with your air-light one. When he’s with you he should have a semblance of peace, if not joy. “And she’s a very fine dancer, quite enthusiastic.” 

“She does like to spin,” Armaros comments and it makes your chest tighten a little bit. “so far we’ve made little progress in her attempts to teach me.” 

“Well, I fall even just walking around.” You say. And with that, you let him go. Although you long to lie down with him again, to forget funerals and sermons you deny your own wishes. You bend at the waist to pick up your discarded undergarments and the thick, wool skirt made necessary by late-autumn. 

He hasn’t much to put on, mostly because he made it clear his discomfort with the idea of it. Most of his body you haven’t seen, he tugged his trousers up nearly the moment after he finished. 

“She knows of us, doesn’t she?” You’re hesitant to talk of serious things, but you would hate to goad Armaros into something he may regret. It wouldn’t do to make a liar out of him.

“Yes, I’ve mentioned you. Not by name. She asked if she might watch---” you can’t help it, your laugh is loud and high as you tug your skirt up your waist. Leave it to a Demon.

“I think not.” You tell him all the same. Perhaps you would like to meet Elaine, though. That might be nice.

“What I said. What you and I do is different.” Armaros is confessing quite a few things this afternoon, you’ve noticed. He sounds dazed, quiet. It’s been hard enough getting him to talk to you on good days. 

“So you’ve bedded her, then?” His eyes go wide again, horror on his face. He’s insulted because he loves her, as he doesn’t love you. 

“N-no--- she’s a demon---” he stumbles over his words, trying to explain. You nod.

“And you‘re afraid of what proposition her would imply?” He seems relieved that you understand.

“I wouldn’t want to offend her.” He admits. You scoff, returning to him like he’s the moon and you the tide. Armaros does pull on your heart. 

“I doubt you could,” you say, putting a hand on either side of his jaw and encouraging him to tilt his head up and look at you. “chin up, brave one. You already have her.”

“But I would hate to lose you.” He mumbles, his ice-blue gaze isn’t held by yours for very long. Armaros doesn’t pull away but he does avert his eyes. Your stomach sinks.

“Quit that thinking, dear heart. You’re a good man who owes me no pity.” You insist, hoping against hope that if he doesn’t understand why you’re upset that he will drop the conversation at the very least.

“It’s not pity.” He defends, but it’s mostly lacking passion.

“Duty, then. Pick a two-syllable word. Armaros you are very loyal and I think it’s a testament to your character but I wish that you’d let me find some distance.” You leave him, then, for a change. So much of your time with him is spent running after his quiet aversions. Because you do love him very much, don’t you? You’d like it if he were yours but he isn’t.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean---” he sounds like he is, the deflated apology in his tone makes the whole situation more painful. 

“I want to stay close to you as much as you want me to. But you’re in love with a nice girl and I can see it.” You insist, hoping to soundless hopelessly spurned. A more fitting, mature tone of voice always does well with him. You hope he’ll buy it. 

“But you---” He starts, you hate how much cutting him off makes you sound like his sister.

“I’m not ending anything, that will be your choice. I adore you, sweet boy.” You say, falling back on reassurance. For the last time, you pace towards him and sit down on the creaky bed. You tug on your boots and start to lace them, you’re side pressed near his. You can feel the cold of him through his clothes.

He falls back into depressing silence.

“You’re not toying with me. I’m here because I care for you. But I think you should chase Elaine. Love feels so good.” You stress your last sentence, hoping that he’ll understand what you mean. Love doesn’t always feel good, but he has a better chance at happiness with her.

“Have you been in love?” He asks, turning slightly in your direction. Armaros seeks no one’s approval but his sister’s, you know that, but he could fool you with the way he looks at you. No doubt he’d like a story, something pretty and sweet to make you more concrete in his eyes. 

He knows very little about you, you realize. As you know very little about him. All that ever seems to matter in the heat of things is the act of rebellion. With you he practices everyday disobedience. With him, you taste all things mysterious and unloved.

You could tell him of how boring your life is in this little town, burying the charred remains of hunters and people you’ve known all your life. You could tell him that yes, you’ve been in love, but no one’s ever made you feel as capable. As beautiful. He doesn’t have a way with words, but he does have a way with actions. 

Finally, you make your decision. It’s hard to remember that you’re trying effectively to push him into the arms of another. You give him a smile, perhaps a bit on the sultry side in the hope of unnerving him. You put your hand on his shoulder and use it as leverage to stand again.

“Let’s just say I’m never in want of feelings.” You reply.


End file.
